Saturday, January 26, 2008

I announced this morning that I simply had to get out of the house. I just HAD to. I wanted to do something that approximated fun. Andrew agreed to go out with me. Now Andrew is 18 and a high school senior. If you are the mother of a teenager you know that any time they want to spend with you is going to be fun, or at least time well spent.

So I took him out to a fast food lunch and asked what he might want to "do." "Well, I know it isn't really fun, but I really do need a new pair of shoes."

Okay then...off to the store we went. He tried on new shoes, eventually deciding on shoes that were the newest model of the same shoe that he got...when...was it a year and a half ago or two and a half years? Last summer we took them to the shoe guy to get the soles glued back on and they were certainly old then. It hits me as he puts them back in the box, "That could be the last pair of shoes I buy you." "Yeah, it probably is," he says smiling.

I sigh sadly, thinking that it is just four months until he graduates from high school, and Andrew, who is no body's fool, says, "I could really use some new jeans."

----I feel compelled to come back and write that this is the sort of story telling that makes Andrew irritable with me. The truth is that I did get wistful over buying him the shoes, and he did tell me that he really could use new jeans, but those two moments were not connected to each other. He in no way was trying to take advantage of my weak moment. But, as I try to explain to him sometimes, the literal truth is not nearly as good a story. I mean, really how engaging would it be if I just told you that I bought him shoes, got all sentimental about it, and then also bought him three pairs of jeans?

Of course I could probably make a funny story about the dressing room lock. First, of course, we had to get someone to unlocked it. I warned him not to let the door shut when he came back out. Then when he did come out the door started to close, I jumped to get it and stepped on his toes. I explained that I had to get the door while he simultaneously protested that I had stepped on his toes. Five minutes later he came out of the dressing room again and walked away while the door swung shut. To my stunned face he said, "What?""The door! You let it shut!""So?""So? It is locked! Now we have to go find someone to unlock it again.""I didn't know.""But I told you, and why did you think I was so hyper about grabbing it before?""I don't know. I was too busy thinking about how much you hurt my toes!"

No, it isn't really funny is it? But see, at the time it was. The whole situation was so ridiculous, that at the end of it all we were both laughing hard enough to attract the attention of the other shoppers, which of course resulted in him trying to shush me and me laughing harder.

No the laughter did not attract anyone with a key. Someone had to go back to the woman's side to get the attendant. I tried to make him go, but his shoes were locked in the dressing room and the pants had the security thingy on them and he really, really didn't want to do it.

About Me

Daughter, sister, wife, mother, foster-parent blog writer, philosophy professor ... I am and have been many things. These days my identities as a teacher of bioethics and the daughter of a woman with Parkinson's and dementia lead me to agree with Peter Singer, "It's different when it's your mother."